Just Being Neighborly
by AngelxPhoenix
Summary: A locked door, a broken elevator, and a night they'll barely remember. Prequel(ish) to "Warrior Shepherds."
1. Chapter 1

**Hey hey hey! I'm so glad to finally be posting this! This is a little prequel of sorts to "Warrior Shepherds" that's been gathering dust for a little over a year now (for any new people, if you haven't read WS yet, feel free to do so, though it's not required for this story). This is pretty much the result of our boys and my girl Renata occupying the same space in my head as Nickelback and Theory of a Deadman for a significant amount of time..."Gotta Get Me Some" and "Bad Girlfriend," respectively. I'll be posting it in three parts, and I hope you like it!**

 **I don't own Connor and Murphy (damn it) or any other characters from BDS. Renata, however, is mine all mine, for better or worse.**

 **And away we go!**

Murphy was dreaming of Suzanne Somers and watermelon when a wailing siren pierced his alcohol-induced coma like a power drill through his skull. He sat upright with a start, cursing bitterly at the headache aggravated by the motion, then opened his eyes with a loud groan.

The sunlight filling the loft was painfully bright... Well, that made no fucking sense. How could there be sirens _inside_ the loft? It wailed again, and this time he understood. The phone was ringing.

 _It's too fucking early for this shit..._

He leaned off the edge of his bed to pick the handset up off the floor-no, wait, he _wasn't_ on his bed, he was on Connor's. He looked across the room and saw his twin passed out on their much-abused couch, head propped at an uncomfortable angle against the arm rest and his jeans laying discarded on the floor just inside the door. His mouth hung open and Murphy smirked to notice how he drooled all over the couch.

The phone rang and he picked it up and answered it. "Hello?"

"Rise an' shine, ye little bastards!"

Murphy jerked the phone away from his ear with a startled outburst, the shout coming over the line as deafening as it was painful. He should have seen it coming; it was Saturday morning, and time for Ma's wakeup call. Annabelle MacManus knew good and fucking well her boys had gone out and gotten scuttered on Friday night, and a hung-over morning after was as good a time as any to harass them.

"Jesus, Ma," Murphy said, whining as he cautiously spoke into the receiver. "Ye get louder every fuckin week."

"Lord's name, boyo," she told him, cackling at his complaining. "Which of ye pissants am I talkin to?"

"It's Murph...again."

She laughed even harder. Under ordinary circumstances, Murphy slept like a log and Connor woke up at the drop of a hat, but after a night of drinking it was Murphy who could be easily roused, usually with a splitting headache, and Connor who could sleep through the Tribulation and be none the wiser. The past three weeks in a row, it was Murphy who answered the phone to their mother's merry torment. _Here you go, Murph. Here's the shit end of the stick...and it's got your name on it!_ "What's that brother a yers doin?"

"Still out cold, lazy fuck." Murphy picked up one of his boots and heaved it in the direction of the couch, where it connected with Connor's head with a satisfying thud. He woke with a hiss of pain. "Ow, fuck..."

"He's awake now, Ma."

Connor sat up, rubbing his head and wiping the drool from his mouth. "Ye're a right fuckin asshole, Murphy."

Murphy shot him the bird.

"Ye boys didn't get inta any trouble last night, did ye?" Annabelle demanded.

"No, Ma," Murphy replied warily. Three thousand miles and an entire fucking ocean lay between them, but she would still chew their asses if they stepped out of line.

"Ye best not lie ta me, Murph," she warned him. There was a pause, an inhale and an exhale, and he could picture her on the other end of the line with a half-smoked cigarette in hand. "I'll find out if ye are, ye know."

"Well, now ye mention it," he said slowly, speaking as if reluctant to confess but casting a devious look at his twin, "I mighta seen Connor gettin a blow job from a hooker in the back room a the bar..."

"That's a fuckin lie!" Connor burst out, suddenly alert. He leaped at Murphy, trying to wrestle the phone away from him. "For Christ's fuckin sake, Ma, don't listen ta that shit!" he yelled. "He's lyin his fuckin ass off!"

"Murph, give him a good smack for blasphemy," Annabelle instructed.

Murphy reached up and cuffed Connor over the head. "Lord's name, eejit."

"Now put him on for me."

He handed Connor the phone; Connor held it to his ear, listening patiently, then boxed Murphy's ears. "That's for lyin, dumbshite."

Murphy shoved him away, massaging his ear, and he got to his feet, still on the phone. "No, Ma, I promise, no hookers...aye, we were at Doc's place...we didn't get inta anythin ta go to confession for..."

"Really?" Murphy asked loudly. "Ye seen yer neck lately?" It was impossible to miss the giant hickey stark and bold on Connor's golden skin, and in an extra dose of irony, it was situated perfectly beside his tattoo of the Virgin Mary.

Connor gave him an irritated look. "I don't know what the fuck he's talkin about, Ma," he said, bending down to pick something off the floor beside Murphy's bed. "Where'd ye get this, Murph?" he inquired. "Victoria's Secret?" He flung a satin, flesh-colored bra at him, smacking him in the face. Murphy batted it aside and snatched up his t-shirt from where he had thrown in the night before. Connor tapped him on the head with the handset and held it out to him. "For you, little brother."

Murphy took the phone with a scowl. "Yeah, Ma?"

"If I hear ye've been pickin up any low-down, no-account hussies in bars-"

"Ma, I haven't-"

"I won't have any grandbabbies from any one night stands, ye got me?'

"For fuck's sake, Ma-"

"If ye catch anything an' yer cock falls off, ye got no one but yerself ta blame!"

Murphy glared at Connor, who stood watching with a shit-eating grin on his face, and gave up trying to interrupt her. He could hear the smile in her voice and knew how much she was enjoying taking the piss out of him.

She finally ran out of steam and there was another exhale, followed by, "So what did ye boys do last night?"

Murphy opened his mouth to answer, then paused as his memory drew a blank. Garbled images of the night before flashed through his head, all of them vaguely disconnected and none of them making much sense. He glanced over at Connor, eyebrows raised in a look that said, _What_ did _we do last night?_

Connor's brow furrowed. _That's a damn good questi_ on.

* * *

 _Friday night_  
"Would ye fuckin hurry it up?" Connor demanded as Murphy leaned down to tie his boots. It was Friday night, their slog at Noland's Meatpacking was over for the weekend, and their favorite bar stools were waiting for them at McGinty's-assuming Murphy ever got his ass in gear.

"Don't get yer panties in a wad," he shot back. "I'll be ready when I'm fuckin ready." He finished with his boots and straightened up, smoothing his hair flat. The cowlick at the back of his head had never particularly bothered him before, but it had recently become the bane of his existence. "There's nothin stickin up, is there?" he asked.

"The only thing stickin up's in yer jeans, Murph," Connor teased. "Might as well give it up, ye've never gotten anywhere with Maggie before. Besides," he added, running a hand through his light hair with a smirk, "ye know she prefers blondes."

Murphy took a swing at him but he dodged it easily, still smiling. The dark-haired twin had been squirrelly ever since Doc's niece came home from college for the summer and started helping out at the bar, and needling him about his crush hadn't yet lost its novelty. "C'mon, loverboy, let's get movin."

They left the apartment, donning their rosaries on the way out and tucking them under their shirts as they went. They bypassed the elevator and made for the stairs; the fucking thing was still out of service and until enough of the tenants complained loudly enough, the chap that owned the building wasn't likely to have it fixed. Considering the property was industrial, and had been converted and rented out illegally, it was going to take a lot of complaints before any improvements were made.

The MacManuses had been living in their fifth-floor loft for about a year, and while it was still a shit hole it was definitely a step up from their last digs, and their neighbors a lot easier to get along with. They passed old Mrs. Cavanaugh on the fourth floor and exchanged greetings with Bobby Fitzpatrick on his way out to walk his dog. As they neared the landing on the third floor, however, they ran across an unfamiliar face.

There was a young woman outside the Reids' place, hammering insistently on the door. A quick assessment from the distance revealed shoulder-length brown hair and an ass that could stop traffic, and as they got closer the expression in her gray eyes became apparent, caught somewhere between exasperation and annoyance.

"Grace!" she called, pounding on the door again. "I'm locked out, open up!"

"It's no use, sweetheart," Connor told her. "Grace works the night shift on Fridays. She won't be back 'til after dawn."

"Shit," she burst out, her fist dropping to her side. "Now what?"

"Jimmy oughta be in, shouldn't he?" Murphy asked.

"No, his mother had a stroke, so he's staying with her at the hospital the next few days," she answered.

"Ah, I see...are ye family?"

"Kinda. Jimmy is my boyfriend's cousin." She heaved a sigh and wiped the sweat from her brow. Summer had hit Boston with a vengeance and while it was marginally cooler inside the apartments themselves, with window unit air conditioning and a cold drink or two, it was sweltering in the hallways. "Well, shit..."

"Don't ye have a spare key?" Connor asked.

"Sure don't," she said. "I guess I'll just have to head out and kill some time until Grace gets back."

"Ye do know ye're in Southie, don't ye? Not exactly the best a neighborhoods ta be walkin alone after dark." He looked her up and down, trying not to be too obvious about it. She had one hell of a body, not just a nice backside, and dressed as she was in a tight black tank top and short denim skirt, she was sure to attract trouble.

The news seemed to aggravate her further. She groaned and leaned against the door, sliding down the length of it to sit on the floor. She drew a brand new pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and lit up, inhaling deeply and closing her eyes on the exhale.

Connor paused thoughtfully, then asked, "Ye wanna join us for a drink, since ye got nothin else ta do?"

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "What?" she asked.

"What?" Murphy repeated.

"We're headin out anyway," Connor went on. "It sure as fuck beats sittin out in the hallway all night."

She shrugged. "I don't know. If you already have plans..."

"Ye don't mind, do ye, Murph?"

Murphy copied the girl's shrug. "It's fine with me." If she held Connor's attention all night the way she already seemed to be doing, he wouldn't have to put up with so much shit about Maggie.

Connor stepped closer, hand extended to help her to her feet while taking in the view down the front of her tank top. "Don't think we've seen ye around before," he said.

"I have," Murphy told him; he'd crossed paths with her in various stages of intoxication a few times in the building. Small wonder she would agree to a drink.

Connor shot him a look; _And you never said a word?_ He helped her stand, surreptitiously pulling her closer in the process. "The name's Connor," he told her, speaking an octave deeper than usual and putting a subtle emphasis on his accent. Murphy let out a snort - well, maybe not _that_ subtle. "When did ye move in?"

"I haven't," she said. "My boyfriend and I just got into town a few weeks ago, and we're staying with his relatives until we get settled." She cocked her head to one side. "And why do you want to know?"

"It's a small building, an' I'm tryin ta figure out how I've only just seen ye for the first time."

Murphy barely kept from rolling his eyes. "Can we get fuckin goin, please? Ye were quick enough ta jump my shit five minutes ago for movin too slow ta suit ye."

"Don't mind me little brother," Connor told the girl, leaning in conspiratorially. "He tends ta get cranky when the weather's hot."

A slow grin spread across her face. "But not you?"

"Nah," he replied casually, fixing her with the blue-eyed stare women seemed to find irresistible. "I like it hot."

Murphy swatted him on the back of the head. "Little, my ass, ye retard. First thing ye need ta know about me dear brother," he said to the girl, "he's full a hot air an' horse shit, an' he tends ta do shit arseways. Here he is, tryin ta go out an' get ye tossed, an' he hasn't even asked ye for yer name."

Connor had the grace to look sheepish.

She took another drag off her cigarette. "I'm Renata."

"Nice ta meet ye, Renata. I'm Murphy, this is Connor, an' if he tries ta convince ye he's older'n me, ye should remember he's full a hot air an' horse shit."

"Twins, ye see," Connor explained. "Murph's a little sensitive about the age thing."

Renata smiled. "So you're literally, Irish twins."

"Aye. Funny how that worked out, innit?"

She giggled. "I _love_ your accent."

"Aw, stop it, I'm blushin. Shall we head out?"

She nodded, finishing her smoke and grinding it under the toe of her sneaker. "Where are we going?"

* * *

It was still early, so most of the crowd at McGinty's were regular customers. Cigarette smoke hung heavy in the barroom and under the clatter of glass and the clamor of a dozen voices, the radio behind the bar was discernible, tuned into a classic rock station. It was loud and lively, a good place to unwind after a long week.

Connor and Murphy were met with boisterous cheering the instant they walked through the door. Coworkers and drinking mates hailed them as they passed, slapping them on the back and trading greetings and insults with equal good humor. Renata stuck close, turning her fair share of heads as they made their way to the bar, where a man with scruffy hair sat drinking alone.

He turned at a word from Murphy and got to his feet, grinning widely. "It's about fuckin time you showed up!" he burst out, pulling each of the brothers into a bear hug. "Hey, Fuck-Ass!" he called to the old man behind the bar. "Guess who just walked in!"

The old man walked over, white hair combed neatly and eyes twitching behind thick glasses. "Look what the c-c-cat brought back from the dead," he said, smiling. "What are ye b-b-boys startin with?"

"Three pints a black stuff, Doc," Connor replied, pulling up a barstool. "C'mere, sweetheart," he told Renata, gesturing to the vacant stool on his left. "I saved ye a seat."

" _She's got a boyfriend, idiot_ ," Murphy reminded him in Gaelic, taking the seat two stools to his brother's right and leaving a spot in the middle for their scruffy-haired friend.

" _Do you see him anywhere around here?"_ Connor shot back, and Murphy rolled his eyes.

Doc set three glasses of Guinness on the bar and Connor slid one over to Renata before raising his own in salute. " _Slainté_ ," he toasted, and they drank.

"What, don't I even get an introduction?" the scruffy man demanded, giving Connor a shove in the shoulder and causing him to spill some of the beer.

"Ah, fuck, Roc, ye're wastin good shit!"

"Who's your new friend, numb nuts?"

"Christ...Roc, this is Renata. Renata, our friend Rocco, an' yes, he's as thick as he looks."

"How's it going?" Rocco asked, reaching in front of Connor to shake her hand and grinning cheerfully.

"Say, Doc, is Maggie around anywhere?" Murphy asked from down the bar.

"Aye," the old man replied. "B-b-been runnin round all fuckin night, like hell f-f-f - fuck! Ass! - fuckin froze over."

Murphy glanced around the bar, guessing Doc must have meant "a bat out of hell" when he caught sight of a familiar figure speeding around the patrons, a tray of drinks balanced on one hand and a look of cool concentration on her face.

"Looks like she's too busy ta talk, Murph," Connor teased.

"Shut yer fuckin mouth," Murphy told him, flushing slightly.

"You gotta talk to her sometime, Murph," Rocco encouraged, lighting a cigarette. "Quit stalking her, for fuck's sake."

"Lay off, Roc, I'll talk ta her when I fuckin feel like it."

"I could c-c-c-" Doc began, "c-c-c- oh fuck it. Maggie!" he shouted over the noise in the bar. "C'mere!"

"Doc, what the fuck're ye-"

The young woman walked over, a rather pretty young woman with long hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. "Yeah, Doc?" she asked.

"Doc's niece," Connor explained to Renata, leaning closer and lowering his voice. "Murph's had a soft spot for her for weeks."

"Yeah," Rocco agreed, "and-"

"A hard one?" Renata suggested.

He burst out laughing and gave Connor a slap on the back. "Where the fuck did you pick this one up?"

Murphy suddenly busied himself with downing half his beer in three long gulps, and judging by the intense blush spreading across his face and neck, he had heard the whole exchange.

Maggie, it seemed, hadn't. She looked expectantly at Doc, saying again, "Yeah?"

Doc glanced at Murphy, who didn't seem prepared to speak, then finally said, "M-M-Murphy here just wanted ta say s-s-somethin ta ye."

Murphy shot him an incredulous look while Maggie turned her expectant eyes on him. "Yes, Murphy?"

"Ah, aye, um..." he said uncertainly, unable to look at her. "I just..."

To his left, Connor, Rocco, and Renata tried to hold in their laughter; Doc stood on the other side of the bar looking sympathetic and exasperated; Maggie stared at him and waited for him to speak. Too many fucking eyes, all the fuck at once.

"Come on, now, she hasn't got all fuckin night," Connor goaded. "Spit it out, already!"

Blushing all the way to his ears, Murphy stared at the floor and mumbled, "Yer shoes are untied."

There was a stunned silence and Maggie raised her eyebrows in surprise, glancing at her feet. "Oh. Thanks." She set her tray on the bar, adjusted her laces, then went back to work.

There was an uproar as soon as she was gone, and even Doc was laughing at Murphy's expense. Murphy himself kept quiet and finished his beer, still blushing.

"That's gotta be the worst fuckin line I've ever heard," Rocco declared, tapping ash off the end of his cigarette and shaking with laughter. "I've used some pretty shitty ones, but Jesus!"

"Way ta go, Casanova!" Connor crowed. "She was ready ta hand over her knickers for ye!"

Murphy plucked the cigarette from Rocco's fingers and flicked it into Connor's beer. "Four onta one," he groused. "Ye motherfuckers don't fight fair, not a fuckin one a ye."

"All's fair in love an' war, lad," Doc replied, pouring Connor a new pint.

"I'll be damned! Ye got one right, old man!" Connor took the glass and gave Renata a nudge. "Ye gotta keep up, sweetheart," he told her, gesturing to her drink. "Ye'll never get tossed, the rate ye're goin."

"I'll catch up," she promised.

"Ye wanna watch it, drinkin with him," Murphy warned her. "He's a fuckin predator tryin ta get up that skirt ye're wearin."

"Is that so?" she asked. She raised her glass and drank, and drank, and drank, emptying the glass and setting it back on the bar with a loud chink. "I think I can handle him."

The brothers stared at her in amazement and Rocco demanded, "Seriously, where the fuck did you pick her up?" **  
**

 **Part two to follow in a few days, along with a WS update. In the meantime, as Beyoncé said, if you like it then you shoulda put a comment on it. ;) Thanks, guys!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Part two arriving in three...two...one...**

"Ye gotta lean way low over the table," Connor instructed. "Only way ta line up the shot right."

He stood close behind Renata, both of them bending over the pool table and a cue in their hands. Rocco stood to the side, his own cue in hand as he waited to take his turn. The game had been Renata's idea; teaching her a few trick shots had been Connor's.

He peered over her shoulder, seemingly focused on the shot while leaning even closer, as though testing how far she would let him go. She grinned wickedly and suddenly leaned back, grinding her ass against his crotch. "Am I low enough?" she asked innocently.

"Fuckin hell," he mumbled, one hand releasing the pool cue and clutching at her hip. "Easy, darlin, ye're breakin me concentration."

"Would you two get a fuckin room or make the fuckin shot already?" Rocco broke in. "I could have jerked off, taken a shit, _and_ gotten another beer by now."

"Just listen ta him," Connor remarked lightly, speaking in Renata's ear. "That fuckin mouth never stops runnin."

She giggled and his hands covered hers on the cue, pulling back and striking. Her target went rolling over the worn felt of the table and straight into the side pocket.

He grinned and straightened up. "Ye sure got a way with big sticks."

Rocco rolled his eyes.

She gave a wolfish grin and replied, "I've had practice." She leaned over the table and lined up her next shot, relaxing the flirtation for concentration, shooting again at the same instant Murphy approached with four shot glasses. She cursed as the cue glanced off the side of the cue ball and sent it spinning in the wrong direction. "Damn, Murphy, you sabotaged me!"

"Sorry 'bout that," he said, handing her a shot of whiskey. "Here's a consolation prize." He finished passing out the drinks and saluted his companions, and they downed the liquor in unison.

"All right," Rocco said, leaving his glass on the edge of the table and taking aim with his cue, "my turn."

A song came on the radio on the other side of the room, an easy, laid-back riff followed by a raspy voice, " _Wake up, Maggie, I think I got something to say to you_..."

"Hey, Mags, it's your favorite song!" someone yelled, and there were several drunken titters.

Maggie paused in the middle of her work, looking irritated. "Doc, change it!" she called.

Protests mingled with the lyrics in a new commotion.

"Aw, c'mon, girl!"

"It's a good tune!"

" _Oh, Maggie, I couldn't have tried anymore_..."

"Doc!" she implored.

Murphy glanced at her, then approached the bar. "C'mon, Doc, could ye find somethin else?" he asked.

Doc nodded and adjusted the radio; moments later Rod Stewart was replaced with the Doors, and the noise eventually subsided.

Maggie looked at Murphy, her irritation giving way to relief. "Thanks, Murph," she said.

He shrugged and ran a hand self-consciously over his hair.

She gave him a small smile, then turned away.

Connor looked as though he couldn't believe his eyes. Murphy walked back to the pool table, chewing nervously on the side of his thumb, and Connor slapped the back of his head. "Ye fuckin dope!" he burst out. "Ye had a perfect fuckin opportunity there, why the fuck didn't ye take it?"

"What fuckin opportunity?" Murphy asked, flattening his hair again. "I hate that song."

"Yeah, sure you do," Rocco chimed in, studying the pool table as Renata lined up her next shot. "It's got nothing to do with playing the hero for a certain damsel in distress."

"Connor's the fuckin hero, not me," Murphy replied, tapping a cigarette out of the pack from his pocket, "rescuin girls locked outta the house an' shit."

Renata grinned and Connor matched the expression. "Just bein neighborly," he insisted. "'Nother round, sweetheart?"

"After this game," she answered. "Can't afford to fuck with my aim if I'm going to win."

"Honey, this game was over before it started," Rocco informed her. "I'm too fuckin amazing to lose. If you want a game you can win while drinking, play darts with Murph. You can be wasted six fuckin ways to Sunday and you'll _still_ kick his ass."

"What the fuck is this, gang up on Murph night?" Murphy demanded, but he smiled anyway. "Ye know, Roc, I'd be pretty fuckin sore at ye, if that wasn't true."

Rocco laughed and Renata took her shot. She played a good game, but he hadn't lied to her about his skills, finishing her off within ten minutes. "Sorry, babe," he said as one final shot ended the game, "better luck next time."

She shrugged. "I'm a good loser. I'll even buy you a victory drink."

"He's got his own tab," Connor told her, putting a hand in the middle of her back and steering her towards the bar. "Ye're drinkin on me, darlin." The four of them reclaimed their seats at the bar and he asked her, "So, what kinda fuckin idiot's yer boyfriend, ta be leavin ye alone on a Friday night?"

"Ugh, don't get me started," she pleaded, taking the beer Doc passed her. "He swore when we got into town that he had a job waiting on him, but I guess that fell through. Either that, or he was full of shit the whole time." She took a long drink and continued, "He's been looking for work for weeks now, but nothing sticks, and in the meantime I'm stuck at home with his relatives - you know, Grace is such a fucking _bitch!"_ she burst out. "She's half my Nana's age, but I swear she's twice as...as..." she snapped her fingers as she fished for the words, "come on, I know this one..."

"Cantankerous?" Connor offered.

"Yeah, that'll work. She's judgmental as shit, always chewing my ass about something. 'Renata, you drink too much; Renata, don't smoke in the house; Renata, you dress like a two-bit hooker.'"

"I've seen worse on two-bit hookers."

"Aye," Murphy agreed. "Ye've seen Donna."

"Who's Donna?"

"Roc's girlfriend."

"And she might as well be a two-bit hooker," Rocco added, suddenly sounding gloomy. "Did I tell you she traded my goddamn TV and a blow job for a ball of coke?"

Murphy offered a groan of sympathy and Connor gave him an incredulous look. "Ye're not fuckin serious, are ye?"

"Serious as a fuckin heart attack. I came home and she was snorting the shit right on the fuckin table." He laughed humorlessly. "She offered me a line."

"Jesus, Roc, sorry 'bout that."

He shrugged and turned to Renata. "Let me guess, your guy is off shooting up in some crack house while you sit at home with that bitch relative."

"The hell if I know," she confessed. "He's out at least three nights a week now, 'going to interviews.'" She put air quotes around the words. "He comes home smelling like booze and sex every. Fucking. Time."

Connor let out a snort. "Fuckin idiot. I've got a feelin ye can do better than that, girl."

"I don't know. I've just got shitty luck with guys, you know? This one's the worst because my mom tried to talk sense into me, stay in school, don't go running off with this guy-"

"Ye dropped out?"

"Like a fucking dumb ass! I was in my second year at Mizzou when Kevin goes, 'Listen, baby, I gotta try a new city...'"

All three men groaned. "That's a bad sign, hon," Rocco told her.

"Exactly. I got in a _huge_ fucking fight with my mom, stormed out in the middle of the fucking night..." She heaved a sigh and leaned her elbow on the bar, resting her chin on her hand. "Story of my life, you know. Get myself neck deep in shit over a guy who turns out to be a complete douche bag."

Murphy leaned over to run a consoling hand up and down her back. Her bra strap had slipped down her shoulder and he hooked a finger onto the flesh-colored satin and moved it back into place. She reached up to cover his hand with her own and held him in place on her shoulder, her skin warm and soft against his. "I really screwed up with this one," she said, as if to herself.

"He's a fuckin idiot," Murphy said, echoing Connor's statement.

"Yeah, don't sweat it, honey," Rocco said. "We've got our own fuckin Lonely Hearts Club around here, Murph having no luck with Maggie, me and Donna and her fuckin habits, and you and your guy and his bullshit."

"What about Connor?" she asked.

"Just call him Sergeant Pepper," Murphy replied, and Connor grinned.

Renata chuckled and looked down into her beer. "What is this, again?"

"Guinness," one of the brothers answered.

"Best shit ta come outta Mother Ireland," the other added.

"Well, besides the two of us."

She laughed again and emptied the glass. "I'll have another."

* * *

"God, Murph, you suck at this," Renata said despairingly.

"I told you," Rocco said, watching from the sidelines, "Murphy MacManus can't do two things: miss church on Sunday, and throw darts to save his brother's fuckin life."

"If me fuckin life's at stake, he'd better fuckin _learn_ ta throw darts," Connor interjected.

"Would ye fuckin shut it?" Murphy broke in, last dart poised for flight. "I gotta focus!"

"I don't see how it'll do you any good," Rocco informed him, looking at the napkin he'd been keeping score on. "She's over two hundred points up."

Murphy gave a sniff of disdain and threw. The dart landed with a thump on the outermost edge of the board - outside the scoring range. "See?" he said. "Ye're throwin me off my game."

"Ye never _had_ game ta begin with, little brother," Connor told him, ducking moments later as Murphy aimed a blow at his head.

"At least that one hit the board," Renata suggested encouragingly; every few rounds it seemed as if one of Murphy's darts managed to embed itself in the wall.

Maggie walked past on her way to a rowdy table, glancing over at the board. "Who is winning?" she asked, looking at the groupings. Renata's darts were fairly close to the bull's-eye, while Murphy's were scattered helter skelter.

Renata shot a glance at the dark-haired twin and said, "Murph's got skills. He's kicking my ass over here."

"Really?" Maggie replied, smiling slightly. "He was playing Rocco a few nights ago, and Roc was playing just as badly as you do. He almost took someone's eye out, as a matter of fact."

Murphy coughed in embarrassment and avoided anyone's eye, but Renata didn't miss a beat. She gave Rocco a nudge and said, "Good thing we aren't playing each other, or between the two of us we'd probably kill someone."

Everyone but Murphy grinned and Maggie left them again.

Renata shrugged and collected her darts. "It was worth a shot," she said.

The three men mumbled something in agreement, watching her. She was no rookie, she had the form of a seasoned competitor...in fact, there was something in the taut, intent concentration running through her body that made her the most interesting sight in the room. A tiny frown line appeared between her eyebrows as she focused, the dart perched in her fingers, and even Murphy left off ogling Maggie to stare at her. Her bra strap had slipped again, and on the opposite shoulder a tattoo was half hidden by her tank top - a very tight, low-cut tank top, they all noticed anew, along with the mile-long legs beneath the tiny skirt. Her cheeks were flushed with the alcohol and her gray eyes were intense, her hair was loose and ruffled and a film of sweat still covered her neck and chest. The overall effect was of a storm visible on the distant horizon; it was common sense to take cover until it passed by, but there was something mesmerizing about it that made it impossible to look away.

She turned to them with a smile. "Your turn again, Murph," she said.

They shifted their attention back to the board. She had thrown all three darts without their paying any heed, and one was a perfect bull's-eye.

Murphy shook his head. "I'm fucked, girl," he said. "I can't stand against ye."

"Damn straight," she replied, "but you're not allowed to forfeit. I want to beat you fair and square."

"It might be kinder ta let him bow out while he's got some dignity," Connor told her. "Bad enough he got beat by a girl without lettin him make a bigger arse of himself."

"Ye think ye can do better?" Murphy challenged.

"Ye bet yer hairy nut sack I can."

"I dunno..." Rocco said uncertainly, looking at the score. "You can't do worse-"

Murphy rolled his eyes.

"But she's got a hell of a fuckin lead."

"How many points does she need?"

Rocco added up Renata's last three shots and replied, "Another one-hundred thirty-six and she's got it."

"How far behind am I?"

"About three fourteen."

Connor did some mental arithmetic, then nodded. "Aye, I think I can get it."

"You're kidding," Renata said. "I could win this in six shots, tops."

"Ye could," Connor conceded, "but ye're goin against the other MacManus now, an' this one's never lost to a girl before."

"Well, there was that arm wrestlin match with Dana Findlay..." Murphy said with a sly grin.

"That's gobshite, Murph," Connor shot back, looking unconcerned. "She was twice our age an' had a foot an' six inches an' a hundred pounds on me."

"Aye," Murphy agreed, leaning close to Renata and adding in a loud murmur, "Just ask him where those six inches were."

She burst out laughing, leaning against him with a hand on his shoulder to steady herself.

Connor ignored them and collected his darts. "What d'ye say we have a flutter on this?" he suggested. "Twenty bucks says I knock ye on yer ass."

"You know, I have twenty bucks," Renata replied, fishing a bill out of her pocket. She looked to Murphy and Rocco. "Time to take sides, boys," she told them. "Who are you rooting for?"

"I know better'n ta bet against me brother," Murphy said, and Connor gave him a slap on the back. "What about you, Roc?"

Rocco shrugged. "I've seen this guy in action," he told Renata, "so your money is good as gone, but fuck it. You need somebody in your corner."

"Ye're a good man, Roc," Connor informed him, aiming his first dart. "A gentleman an' a fuckin scholar an' all that shit." He threw the dart with a powerful flick of his wrist and it landed dead center in the board. "Ye best get my money ready."

It was a close game. Renata was good, but Connor was better. Every third dart of hers scored lower, but he never ventured away from the middle of the board. There were only twelve points separating her from victory when he made another bull's-eye and ended the game.

"Like I said," he told her as she and Rocco gathered up their money, "this MacManus never lost to a girl."

"There will come a day," Renata replied, handing over a twenty as they made their way to the bar, "when you square off with the wrong girl, and she'll hand you your balls on a silver platter. When that day comes, promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"Remember that I told you so."

He laughed and led her to the bar stool next to his.

"I gotta say, girl, I hope you're right," Rocco told her, sitting on Connor's other side. "I'm out twenty bucks and I still got more drinking to do." He looked half gone as it was, and the other three weren't far behind. Renata leaned slightly against Connor as she climbed onto her stool and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to steady her. Murphy put a hand to the small of her back as he passed, sitting down next to Rocco and laying his twenty dollars on the bar. "Doc," he called out, "make sure this goes ta Roc's tab, aye?"

"Aw, Murph," Rocco said, leaning heavily against him and reaching up to ruffle his hair, "you're one of the best fuckin guys I know, you know that?"

"Easy with that," Murphy warned him, pushing him back onto his stool before either of them could topple to the floor then flattening his hair again.

"Relax, Murph, she's not lookin yer way," Connor told him, glancing across the room where Maggie was collecting dirty glasses. He sat studying the money he'd won off Renata, examining the bill as if he'd never seen one before.

"And _you_ ," Rocco said, turning to him and speaking slower as the night's drinking caught up a little more, "oughta be ashamed of your fuckin self, holding a nice girl to a bet you knew good'n fuckin well she was gonna lose. Thought your mother taught you better manners that than - naw, then and - shit. Than that." He thumped a hand on the bar in triumph. "There. Said it."

"An' she did," Murphy said, lighting another cigarette and leaning an elbow on the bar, "but it never made it through that thick skull a his. Just another dumb fuck blonde."

"Hey," Renata piped up, "my mother is blonde."

Rocco laughed so hard he nearly fell off the stool.

"Ye know what," Connor said, still holding the twenty, "they're right. T'wasn't fair a me an' I shouldn't hold ye to it." He handed Renata the money back.

"You won, fair and square," she said, taking the money anyway.

"Aye, I did, an' I still want some kinda payment."

"Oh? What's that?"

Down the bar, Murphy rolled his eyes.

Connor gave her a charming smile and stood up, turning her on her stool so she faced him. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Gettin me twenty buck's worth," he replied; pulling her so close she had to move her legs to allow him to stand between her knees, he put one hand on her waist and ran the other through her hair, tilting her face up towards his and kissing her. She froze in momentary surprise, then leaned into him and opened her mouth under his gentle coaxing. He stroked the length of her tongue with his and she whimpered softly, clutching at the front of his shirt and pulling him closer yet.

Murphy watched for a moment, a curious and slightly unfocused expression on his face, then he wadded up a napkin and threw it at the back of Connor's head. "Get a fuckin room, would ye?"

Renata was breathless once Connor finally drew away, both of them trembling ever so slightly with sudden, intense arousal. She took the money he'd given back to her and put it in his pocket. "Keep it," she murmured so only he could hear her. "That one knocked me on my ass."

He grunted and cleared his throat. Between her hand in his pocket and the hard-on that had made its appearance sometime during that kiss, his jeans were starting to feel pretty crowded. And judging by the smirk on her face, she'd noticed.

"Y'know, Murph," Rocco broke in, jostling him with an elbow and slurring worse than ever, "mebbe y'oughta try that shit on Maggie, just fuckin _walk_ the fuck up to'er and lay one on her, just like that."

"No, no, I've got a better idea," Renata said, standing. She grasped the edge of the bar until she regained her balance, then walked over to Murphy and took his cigarette from him. "I gotcha, Murph," she assured him, kissing him on the cheek and taking a drag off the smoke as she walked away.

"What the fuck's she doin?" Connor demanded, standing where she left him and looking perturbed.

"Beats the shit outta me," Murphy replied, tapping a fresh cigarette out of the pack, his eyes following her. He had to admit she had a way of moving that was very hard to ignore as she worked her way across the room - to Maggie. A lead weight seemed to drop into his stomach as she tapped the other woman on the shoulder and they leaned toward one another to talk, Renata gesturing with the stolen cigarette to the three men at the bar.

"Is she-" Connor began disbelievingly.

"She _is!_ " Rocco burst out.

"Aw fuck," Murphy groaned, feeling a schoolboy urge to duck behind the bar and hide.

"Nah, wait," Connor said. "Look..."

Maggie appeared to consider something for a second, then picked up a clean napkin and wrote something down on it before handing it to Renata. She said something that made her laugh, then waved at the guys; they waved back, masking their bewilderment as best they could.

"What the fuck was that about?" Murphy asked as Renata returned.

"Just looking out for you," she answered. She kissed him at the corner of his mouth and set the napkin in front of him, adding, "You've been nice to me, so I'm returning the favor." She combed her fingers through his hair, then ruffled it so the cowlick he'd taken such pains to flatten stuck up proudly. "She said she likes it this way."

"What?" He read the numbers scribbled on the napkin. "What the fuck's this?"

"What the fuck does it look like?" she shot back. "It's her fucking phone number, Einstein! She said she's been waiting on you to say something for the past two weeks!"

Murphy stared at the number, looking dazed. "Ye can't be fuckin serious..."

"Well, yeah, hon. You're hot and she's pretty, but neither of you has any fucking brains. I would have made a move ages ago." She gave him a final clap on the shoulder and moved back to Connor. "I'm not half as drunk as I want to be," she said, sitting down next to him. "Doc, get me another round!"

"Are ye sure ye don't think ye've had enough?" Connor asked dubiously.

She rolled her eyes and reached for him, grasping a handful of his hair and yanking him in for another kiss, this one as overtly wanton as the first was deliberately sensual. She released him and gave him a little shove back toward his stool, then glanced at Murphy again. "That's how it's done, dear boy. Let me know if you need any pointers."

Murphy shifted stunned eyes to Connor, who staggered slightly getting back on his stool and turned to the bar. "Doc! Get her another fuckin round!"

* * *

"And the altar boy says, 'Five dollars and a candy bar!'"

Connor, Murphy and Renata all heaved with laughter, but no one laughed louder than Rocco, doubled over onto the bar in mirth at his own punch line. "A fuckin candy bar!" he cackled.

"Roc-" Connor gasped, propping his elbows on the bar as he continued to laugh, "that's the stupidest - fuckin joke - I've ever heard!"

"Hey, you're laughing!" Rocco told him, hiccupping every third chuckle and slumping further and further onto the bar. "Fuckin candy bar..." Before long, he was facedown with his forehead resting on his folded arms, breathing slow and regular.

Murphy leaned closer and pushed the mop of hair aside to study his friend. "Bastard's fuckin fallen asleep," he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Connor chuckled, then groaned as he got to his feet. "I'm goin for a piss," he announced. He placed a hand in the middle of Renata's back and added, "Be right back, sweetheart."

She gave a lazy, contented hum and he drifted off, weaving slightly as he walked.

Maggie appeared behind the bar, retrieving her purse and taking her hair out of its ponytail. "You guys enjoy the rest of your night," she said. "Good night, Doc!"

They all returned her farewell, Murphy and Renata watching her as she walked out of the bar. Renata heaved a sigh and swung one leg off the edge of her stool. "It never made any fucking sense to me," she said, "why people don't just come out and _say_ shit, you know?"

"What d'ye mean?" Murphy asked, already guessing the answer.

"To hear your brother tell it, a certain waitress with a long ponytail has been your wet dream for about a month now, and said waitress has been expecting you to say something for half that time. And because neither of you could sack up and do something about it, you've lost two weeks you could have spent fucking like rabbits in mating season."

Murphy was too drunk to be fazed by her crass attitude. He turned to stare at her over Rocco's shaggy head. "Ye're a lot like Connor, ye know," he told her. "Ye both just say shit, ye both likely never met a stranger, ye're just as fuckin shameless as he is-"

"Actually, I'm probably even more shameless," she interrupted, leaning closer. A _lot_ closer. "I just never saw the point in this two-step bullshit. When I see something I want, I go for it."

"Ye musta made yer mind up pretty fast," he replied, recalling her behavior with Connor throughout the night. But wait, there was a little more to it ...she'd been quick to flirt with Connor from the start; most girls were, truth be told; but as the night wore on and she got steadily drunker, losing her filter along the way, she'd started flirting with him as well, treating him with the same sassy familiarity as his brother, showing the same attention...as if she had the same interest...

She nodded slowly, as if she was following his thoughts as they read across his face, staring him down with those stormy gray eyes. Fucking hell, a man could get lost in eyes like that. "That's right," she said, "I did."

Holy Christ, she was serious. Their gazes remained locked and Murphy grew aware of a tightening in his gut and a sudden throb a little farther south. He shifted uncomfortably on the barstool; had these jeans shrunk in the laundry? "Thought ye were interested in Connor," he said, his voice grown husky and his accent thickening.

She smiled at him, a playful, sensual little half-smile that was sexy as hell. "I'm a greedy girl, Murph," she said. "I thought you'd figured that out. I'm interested in the set."

The bottom seemed to have dropped out of his stomach. He and Connor had never done anything like that. Women were generally content with one MacManus or the other, and if they both developed an interest in the same girl, one would always stand back. Hell, they'd never even fucking _considered_ it, yet here came this total stranger proposing it as casual as anything, and maybe he was just drunk, but it sounded...fuck, it sounded all right with him. She was eager and willing, and there was something so undeniably magnetic about her it could drive a man crazy trying to keep his distance. She was a troublemaker for sure, the sort certain guys would fight over trying to take her home, and he wondered if he wouldn't try that shit with his brother for the same reason - _without_ reason, given what she'd just told him. The tiny part of his brain still not completely addled by alcohol wondered what the fuck he was thinking, taking her up on her offer, this crazy woman who could match him drink for drink, who had helped him score another girl's number, who thought jumping in the sack with not just him but his twin as well sounded like a good way to end the night?

On the other hand, why the fuck not?

Before he could say another word, Connor reappeared, looking at least as wasted as he, Murphy, felt. He stood close to Renata, putting his hand in the middle of her back again and leaning down to speak in her ear. "Doc's gonna be closin down in a bit, an' as long as ye're locked outta yer place...ye don't wanna spend the night in the hallway, ye know."

She smiled at Murphy again and said, "We were just talking about that."

"Were ye, now?"

"Yeah, it got interesting." Her smile widened and she leaned over to run her hand along Murphy's arm, fingers brushing coyly. "Why don't you tell him, Murph?"

Doc approached them before he could respond, gathering up their empty glasses and dirty ash trays. "Last c-c-call, boys," he told them. "Ye don't g-g-gotta go home, but ye gotta c-c-clear out while the sun shines."

Murphy cleared his throat and nodded, seeming to come out of a trance, while Connor looked from him to Renata with a puzzled expression. "Right, Doc," he finally said, beginning to shake Rocco awake. "We'll be outta yer hair in no time."

"Wait, hang on!" Renata burst out, listening intently and looking excited. She pointed at the radio behind the bar. "Turn that shit up! I love that song!"

Doc looked taken aback at the outburst but adjusted the volume, and the bar was filled with the shuffling beat of the Beatles' "Come Together."

Renata got to her feet a little too fast; she overbalanced, stumbled into her newly-vacant barstool, and would have fallen to the floor if Connor hadn't caught her. "Easy, love," he warned her. "Ye all right, there?"

She burst out laughing and flung an arm around his neck. "Come on, Sergeant Pepper," she said. "Get your ass out here and show me your moves."

Half leading, half leaning, she guided him to the middle of the empty barroom and let go, and the turnaround was remarkable. Moments before, she had been unable to stand unassisted, but now that she had given herself over to the music, it was a completely different story. She spun and wove, twisted and turned, like a viper to a snake charmer's piping. The music was like an anchor, keeping her steady while her motion turned fluid and mesmerizing, and the effect was utterly provocative. Connor stood back to watch her for a moment before casting a glance back at Murphy; his twin had spun around to face them and his gaze was riveted on the dancing girl, dark with an intensity Connor understood only too well.

She saw him standing still and rolled her eyes. "We'll never get anywhere if you keep that up," she said, taking his hand and pulling him in.

"Where are we goin?" he asked, his mind hardly on the music as he swayed back and forth.

"I thought your plan was to get me drunk and take me back to your place," she replied, moving closer and doing more to guide his rhythm than she probably realized - no, scratch that, he decided as she slid her fingers through his belt loops and dragged his hips to hers. She was doing everything, _everything_ , on purpose. "Unless you changed your mind?"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," he replied. This was hardly his typical approach to picking up women. He was used to touching and teasing, flirtation and flattery. His was usually the hand that held the reins, always making the first move in the preferred direction. But if she wanted to take the lead, that was just fine with him. He removed her hands and put his on her waist, fingers sneaking under the hem of her shirt to trail slowly across her skin. "What about that boyfriend a yers?"

She rolled her eyes, letting him steer her along as they continued to move. She stepped closer until he could feel the heat of her body, swaying with the beat of the music and adding undercurrents of an altogether different rhythm with every motion. His hand moved to her back, trailing her spine and drawing her further into his arms, his breath catching in his chest as she wound her arms around his neck and rolled her hips to the music, almost touching and never quite near enough. "Fuck him," she said dispassionately. "If he can't be loyal _to_ me, he can expect the same shit _from_ me."

"So, is this revenge or a rebound?" he asked, hands sliding lower and lower on her hips.

"Does it matter?"

"Well, I'm a bit curious..."

She pushed his hands down to her ass and he automatically pulled her against him, both of them giving soft moans as he rocked into her. "What if I just wanted to fuck you?" she asked breathlessly.

"Aye," he said, his accent more pronounced than ever and a gravelly edge in his voice. "I think we can work somethin out..."

They moved in at once, his lips as light and teasing as hers were hungry and demanding. He shifted one hand to her thigh and drew her leg around his body and she fisted her hands into his hair, pulling him down to her. She opened her mouth and he took the hint, using tongue and teeth until she whimpered and staggered but still refused to break away.

The head rush combined with the alcohol they'd consumed had them both reeling and woozy by the time they came up for air. Connor held her pressed against him, using her for support as much as lending her his, and she grinned wickedly. "Is that a shillelagh in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?"

"I'll tell Murph ta stay at Roc's," he replied, heat flooding his body as she put her lips to his neck and started sucking. _Hard_.

She shook her head and trailed her hands down his chest, slipping under his shirt to splay her palms against his stomach. She moved her thumbs in soft semicircles across his skin, feeling him shiver as she looked over his shoulder to where Murphy sat at the bar watching them. He had a lit cigarette in hand and raised it to his lips, blue eyes dark and intense as he stared at her and his brother. He had a look on his face like he was thinking seriously about her earlier suggestion; her display was as much for his benefit as it was for Connor's, and it appeared very much as if it was working. She detached her mouth from Connor's neck, smiling at the purple bruise already forming there, and said, "I think he likes to watch."

Connor turned and saw the intent look in Murphy's gaze. He could sense the hunger from across the room as only a twin could, and he had to pause for a moment. He had been intent on this woman from the start, but it was only too clear his brother had fallen under her charm as well, and he looked as interested in stepping aside for Connor as Connor was for him. They locked eyes, each gauging the force of the others will and the strength of his need, and Connor felt suspended in time, wondering how the night was going to end. They both wanted her, but which of them would get to take her home?

She turned him back to her with her fingertips against his jaw. "Enough with the standoff," she ordered. "I told you, we were talking earlier, and I think I'm having enough fun with you boys that I want to have a little more. I'm down with both of you, if you are."

"Ye're down - _what?"_ he said. Surely he had misheard her, right? "What the fuck are ye talkin about?"

"You know," she replied simply. "You must have shared a few girls before."

"Not fuckin hardly," he told her. "Is this really what the two a ye were talkin about?"

She nodded, eyes unfocused and pupils dilated. "What do you say?"

"Are ye drunk?"

"Wasn't that the plan?"

He looked from her to Murphy, drawing him into the conversation without saying a word. They had never been with the same girl at the same time before, but that didn't seem like much of an issue for the dark-haired twin, not if the wild, ravenous look in his eyes was anything to go by. A strict Catholic upbringing warred with base urge in the lighter twin...he was pretty sure this was frowned upon no matter what the persuasion, and might earn him a little more than penance come confession...but then she snaked a hand into the waistband of his jeans, and the urge won out. It wasn't _that_ strict of an upbringing.

 **Conclusion to come! Stay tuned!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Part three. Conclusion time!**

A writhing, groping mass of limbs slammed against the front door of the MacManuses apartment, the dilapidated wood groaning ominously at the weight of the brothers and Renata leaning heavily against it. They had left McGinty's in a hurry, covering the distance between the bar and the loft in record time and making their way to the fifth floor in a blur of roaming hands and hungry lips. By the time they reached the fifth landing, the fire that had started at the bar was an inferno blazing out of control set to burn them all to ash.

Connor stopped fondling Renata's breast just long enough to dig his keys out of his pocket, then reached to unlock the door past her and Murphy, who were otherwise engaged in a deep kiss that looked pretty all-consuming from where Connor stood. If his brother thought he was going to keep her to himself all night, he had another fucking thing coming. "Heads up," he warned them, turning the knob and pushing the door open.

They stumbled into the apartment, jostled apart by the motion, and Connor took the opportunity to reclaim her attention, wrapping his arms around her and yanking her back against his chest. He kicked the door closed behind the three of them and buried his face in her hair, breathing deep and sighing into her ear, "Ye smell fuckin amazin..."

"Is that the best you've got for dirty talk?" she asked, grabbing a fistful of his hair and guiding him to her neck.

He covered her skin with his lips, alternating between kisses and strokes with his tongue. She wiggled back against the bulge in the front of his jeans and he responded by catching her hips in his hands and holding her there. "The best I've got doesn't leave room for talkin," he replied.

All the oxygen seemed to have fled the room. She was dizzy and breathless, and her inside were dissolving in anticipation. Connor released her to unbuckle his belt and she gave a groan of impatience, her head swimming and an insistent heat gathering in her belly.

Murphy pressed a glass into her hand and the smell of whiskey hit her overloaded senses. "I don't know, Murph," she said. "I don't think I can handle much more."

"I wanna taste it on ye," he replied, the words coming out in a low, animal growl.

She couldn't argue with that. She downed the liquor, rocking her head back on the swallow, and she dropped the glass as the floor lurched beneath her, reaching out to catch herself. Murphy steadied her with his hands on her shoulders, then promptly unsteadied her again as he kissed her, his tongue delving into her mouth as if in search of the last traces of whiskey. He led her across the apartment to the furthest of two mattresses, then tumbled backward onto the bed, pulling her with him.

The movement set her head to spinning like a demented merry-go-round and her stomach shifted dangerously. Uh-uh. No way. She wasn't going to puke on either of these guys, at least not until _after_ she'd fucked them both to the point of unconsciousness. She paused and closed her eyes, taking slow, deep breaths and waiting for things to settle.

"Are ye all right?"

She opened her eyes again. Murphy was looking up at her, caught somewhere between concern and arousal, and Jesus Christ, he looked good enough to eat. She settled her knees on either side of his hips and tugged restlessly at the hem of his shirt, and he obliged by drawing it over his head and tossing it on the floor.

Connor cursed as he hurried to unlace his boots and throw them aside before kicking his way out of his jeans. He left them on the floor and raced over to Murphy's bed, kneeling behind Renata and reaching under her top to unhook her bra. She slid her arms out of the straps and pulled the garment out through her sleeve, casting it aside next to Murphy's shirt. Murphy's hands were next under her top, cupping her breasts and rolling her nipples between his fingers. She let out a moan and threw her head back, and Connor moved to her exposed throat again, kissing and sucking while reaching to cover his twin's hand with one of his own, making him squeeze harder. She moaned louder and her hips rocked forward, even as the sensory overload threatened to overwhelm her.

"Are ye _sure_ ye're all right?" Murphy asked again, watching her. At least, she _thought_ he was watching her; she was seeing double and couldn't be sure. Had she ever been this drunk?

"Fan-fucking-tastic," she replied, focusing on more deep breaths and willing herself not to throw up.

"Ye don't look so good," Murphy persisted, sounding uncertain.

"Gee, thanks."

"Do ye need a minute?" Connor asked, trying not to smile. It would put a hell of a fucking damper on their plans if she heaved, but fucking hysterical if she did it on Murph. His twin looked past her and glared daggers at him as if he knew what he was thinking, and he grinned back.

She let out one final breath and started fumbling with Murphy's belt, unbuckling it and unfastening his jeans. "Who is going first?" she asked.

"I am," Connor piped up immediately.

"The fuck ye are," Murphy argued, taking his hands from under Renata's top and reaching under her skirt instead, fingers drawing her panties down her hips.

"I always go first," Connor insisted.

"Exactly! It's _my_ turn, fucktard!"

"I thought you'd never done this before," Renata broke in. Wow, things were looking fuzzy as hell...

"We haven't," they answered at once.

She nodded and blinked several times, her vision going grayer by the second. "Do either of you have protection?" she asked. Then everything tilted - and she blacked out.

Murphy let out a loud grunt as she fell forward and sprawled on top of him, knocking the wind out of him with the impact. "Fuck..."

Connor froze, momentarily stunned, then he began to laugh.

"The fuck's so fuckin funny?" Murphy demanded, the words coming out as a wheeze.

He kept laughing, then shook his head and said, "Ye had ta give her that last fuckin shot, ye fuckin eejit!"

"How the fuck was I ta know what would happen? What do I look like, Nostra-fuckin-damus?"

"Either way, it's yer own fuckin fault ye're not gettin laid."

"Ye're not either, now help me."

Connor got to his feet and carefully rolled the unconscious girl off his twin. Murphy rose from the bed, and after a moment's thought he removed her shoes and set them on the floor before covering her with an extra blanket.

"Well, that's thoughtful of ye, Murph," Connor remarked, sitting down on his own bed. "Ye're a real fuckin gentleman, ye are."

Murphy gave him a shove in the chest and he fell backwards, toppling off the bed to hit the floor on the other side. "Christ! The fuck-"

"Gimme a beer," Murphy interrupted, stretching himself out on Connor's bed.

Connor staggered to his feet and went to the fridge. He paused behind the door where Murphy couldn't see, taking a can of Guinness and giving it several vigorous shakes. He took another for himself, then tossed the shaken one over to Murphy. The dark-haired MacManus popped the tab on the can and cursed in several different languages as the pressurized beer sprayed foam in all directions. "Connor! What the fuck, man?"

"Serves ye right," Connor told him, flopping onto the couch and opening his beer. "I try ta bring a girl home, an' ye fuckin ruin it."

Murphy stood and carried the beer to the sink, grumbling, "Fuckin waste of perfectly good shit..."

"Aye, well, I'd say it's worth it."

Murphy glared at him before returning to bed.

Connor glanced at Renata, dead drunk on the other side of the room, then shrugged. "Ye still come out on top, Murph. She got ye Maggie's number."

"Fuck, I'd forgot!" He searched his pockets and dug out the wadded napkin, squinting hard to focus on the digits scrawled on the paper. "Gimme the phone, I'm callin her."

"No, ye're fuckin not," Connor told him. "Ye can't call nice girls like her when ye're horny an' drunk off yer fuckin arse, ye dipshite. That's when ye're s'posed ta call one a the trashy sluts in yer acquaintance."

"Well, I'm fucked, I don't know any trashy sluts. Can ye recommended any in _your_ acquaintance?"

"I'm hurt, Murph. The women I'm acquainted with are all decent, church-goin, God-fearin ladies."

"Yeah fuckin right. Hand me the phone."

Connor moved to snatch the phone off the table before Murphy could get to it. "No. Ye been moonin after the little lady for too fuckin long, I'm not lettin ye blow it now."

"Just gimme the fuckin phone," Murphy argued, getting to his feet again and starting towards his brother.

"No," Connor repeated, suddenly smiling. "I gotta look out for me little brother."

"Ye wise ass fuckin-" Murphy darted forward and made a grab for the phone. Connor twisted out of his reach and moved to escape but Murphy grabbed him around the middle and they both fell to the floor, wrestling and grappling and insulting each other as Murphy tried to take the handset and Connor tried to keep it from him.

"Call her in the mornin, ye fuckin retard!" Connor insisted, clutching the phone tight while trying to break the headlock Murphy had him in.

"I won't have the balls ta do it sober, an' ye fuckin know it!" Murphy argued back, reaching for the phone while trying to maintain his hold on Connor.

"Ye're not fuckin callin her!"

"Yes I fuckin am!" He had nearly pried Connor's fingers from the handset when Connor managed to toss it away, sending it skidding across the floor to come to a stop at the edge of his bed.

They both scrambled for it, then paused at a new sound: labored breathing followed by a gagging that could only mean trouble. They both glanced horrified over at Renata, stirring again and about to be sick.

Connor dashed for their trash can, bringing it to Murphy's bed as Murphy angled Renata off the edge of the mattress, holding her hair back and aiming for the trash can. They both cringed as she retched, Connor tentatively rubbing her back in an effort to soothe her. "There ye go, girl," he said gently. "Get it out, it'll help."

"Jesus Christ," she moaned between heaves, sounding miserable. "What the fuck happened?"

"Ye went drinkin with a couple a Irish boys an' tried ta keep up," Murphy answered, combing her hair back from her face.

"Ye did a fine fuckin job of it, too," Connor added, looking away from the trash can as she vomited again. "I didn't expect ye ta last nearly as long as ye did."

She finally emptied her stomach and Connor handed her a napkin from some long-ago night of take-out to wipe her mouth. Murphy helped ease her back onto the bed and she lay quietly for a moment before asking, "Weren't we going to have sex?"

"Let's take a rain check on that until ye're feelin better," Connor replied. "I can't speak for Murph, but I don't fancy givin ye my best moves an' ye spewin on me in the middle a the whole thing. Might kill the magic moment, aye?"

"That's the most reasonable plan I've heard all night," Murphy agreed.

Renata twitched one shoulder in an awkward shrug. "If you say so. I'll just head out and see if Grace is home yet."

"No ye won't," Connor told her firmly. "Ye'll sleep it off right here an' go back in the mornin. Ye could break yer fuckin neck fallin down the stairs in the state ye're in, an' ye're not puttin that on me conscience, sweetheart."

"You don't mind me invading your space?"

"It's just one fuckin night," Murphy pointed out.

"We can handle a little invasion," Connor assured her as he returned to his beer, though Murphy gave him a look that plainly informed him, _I'm taking your bed and the couch is all yours._

Renata heaved a sigh. "That's really nice, guys. Your mother raised you boys right."

"She'll be pleased ta hear that."

She reached out and pulled the trash can closer to the bed. "I'll just keep this handy, if you don't mind."

"'Course not."

She wiggled deeper under Murphy's blankets, drawing them over her head. "See you in the morning."

"Aye. G'night." She went back to sleep, leaving the brothers to reflect on their first attempt at a threesome.

"Y'know," Murphy remarked after a time, "maybe one a these days, ye'll come up with a plan that actually works."

Connor threw the empty beer can at him.

* * *

 _Saturday morning_  
The brothers stared at each other, mentally retracing their steps with Annabelle still on the other end of the phone Murphy held to his ear. She was quiet for a few seconds, then prompted, "Well?"

"We went ta Doc's, Ma," Murphy replied, choosing the vaguest answer possible until he could think of something better.

"Ye didn't get inta any trouble, did ye?"

"No, Ma, it was just us, our friend Rocco, an' -"

A loud groan cut him off, sounding from under the tangle of blankets on his bed. He and Connor both looked up with a start as the blankets began to shift and unwind, long sinuous limbs emerging a little at a time, until finally a brown-haired, gray-eyed girl appeared, looking as hungover as they felt.

They traded enlightened, amused looks. _Oh yeah, that's right_.

"What was that?" Annabelle demanded.

"Connor's just pukin," Murphy replied, holding a finger to his lips to warn Renata to stay quiet. One thing was for sure, their mother sure as fuck wouldn't endorse _both_ of them bringing the _same_ girl home no matter what continent they were on. She nodded and sat up, looking around for her shoes.

Annabelle cackled with laughter on the other end of the phone. "Tell him he best get straightened out before tomorrow mornin. I don't want ye boys skippin Mass for nothin, an' I don't give a flyin fuck if ye gotta drag yer drunken arses up the steps a the church, ye understand?"

"Yes, Ma."

"Go on! Tell him!"

Murphy put his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and addressed the room at large. "She says we better be at church in the mornin no matter how sideways we are, or the wrath of God shall rain down upon our unworthy arses in a fury of fire an' brimstone."

"An' I'll have none a yer smart ass mouth," she added. There was a pause for an inhale and an exhale. "Gimme back ta Connor. I'll hang up from him."

"Aye. Love ye, Ma."

"Love ye too, boyo."

Murphy handed the phone to Connor and turned to Renata, speaking softly. "Sorry 'bout that," he said. "I thought it best ta leave ye out of it."

Renata shrugged, bending forward to tie her shoes. "How Catholic is she?"

"What ye'd call old school," he replied, looking down the front of her tank top. "She only stops short a flagellation coz she'd have ta include herself." Renata straightened up and he looked away before she caught him staring. "Uh, here, I think this belongs ta you..." He handed her the bra Connor had flung at him earlier.

She gave him a wicked smile. "I didn't even notice it was missing," she said, taking it back. She leaned towards him, running her foot along his leg from knee to ankle. "You want to pick up where we left off?"

"We'll call ye later, Ma," Connor broke in loudly, ending both conversations. "Love ye." He hung up the phone and looked from Murphy to Renata and back again. "So," he said, "anyone wanna grab some breakfast?"

"Actually, I'd probably better head out," she replied. "Grace is probably home by now, and I'll have to deal with enough of her shit as it is. Don't want to rock the boat too much, might get tossed overboard."

Murphy nodded and Connor shrugged, picking his jeans off the floor and putting them back on.

Renata got to her feet and gave Murphy's shoulder a squeeze, then crossed the apartment to Connor. She tucked her bra into his back pocket and gave him a wink. "Thanks, guys. It was fun."

"We'll see ye around sometime," Connor said as nonchalantly as he could while her hand lingered in his pocket long enough to give his backside a good grope.

"You probably will." She smiled one more time, then walked out the front door, closing it behind her with a snap.

Connor sat down on the couch, massaging the crick in his neck. "She seemed nice enough..."

"Aye," Murphy agreed, though he wasn't sure if "nice" was the word for it. He sat quietly for a moment until something on the floor caught his eye; he picked it up and saw it was a napkin with a phone number written on it.

Maggie's number!

"Fuck! Gimme the phone!"

* * *

 _Several weeks later_  
It was another Friday night, and the MacManus brothers were returning home from another long day of work at the meat packing plant. The elevator was still out of service, and it was a long trek up the stairs with tired feet and aching backs but they made it with good cheer, eager to unwind after a busy week.

There was a commotion on the third floor, with men wearing uniforms from some fly-by-night moving company carrying boxes and furniture up and down the stairs into one of the units. Murphy spotted a familiar figure supervising the activity and called out a greeting. "Hey, Jimmy!"

The man turned. His dense freckles and close-cut red hair made him easy to identify in a crowd, and when he caught sight of who had addressed him he grinned almost as wide as Rocco. "Murphy! Connor! You guys just getting in?"

"For awhile," Connor replied, shaking Jimmy's hand along with Murphy. "How's yer ma?"

"You heard about the stroke?"

"Aye. Nothin too serious, was it?"

"At her age, _everything's_ serious. She's getting out of the hospital in a few days, but she can't live on her own anymore. Grace and I are looking after her."

The brothers nodded; if their mother's health left her in need of her sons' care then they would do the same for her - though they were both heartily glad that wasn't the case yet.

Murphy looked around at the movers still hauling shit up the stairs. "Gonna be crowded, you, Grace, yer ma, an' yer cousin," he remarked.

"What, Kevin?" Jimmy looked mildly surprised at the mention of him. "He took off a few nights ago."

"He finally found a job?" Connor asked.

Jimmy raised his eyebrows. "Where do you guys get your information?" he questioned.

Connor shrugged. "It's a small building. Word gets around."

"Well, you might want to reconsider your source. Kevin was freeloading off us for a couple months, him and that girlfriend of his. They got into it earlier this week, she got arrested, and we haven't heard shit out of him since."

Connor and Murphy both raised their eyebrows in surprise. "Ye're fuckin with us," Murphy accused incredulously.

"'Fraid not. I'm not surprised, they've been having problems for weeks."

"Aye," Connor agreed. "He was fuckin cheatin on her."

"Where are you guys hearing all this shit?" Jimmy demanded.

"Where the fuck is she?" Murphy asked, ignoring the question.

Still looking puzzled, Jimmy answered, "I felt bad for her because of Kevin, so I paid her bail. I would have let her stay a little longer, but Grace isn't exactly her biggest fan and, well, gotta please the wife."

"Ye mean ye fuckin kicked her out?" Connor demanded, his voice hardening in outrage.

"Hey, it's not like she's handicapped or helpless," Jimmy replied defensively. "She seemed a lot smarter than Kevin, I'm sure she'll be fine." He stood a little straighter, a steely glint coming into his eye. "But what's it to you guys, anyway? You didn't know her."

Connor and Murphy relaxed slightly, though each could sense the other's feeling of injustice. "Just seems like a shit deal, is all," Murphy said, "bein new ta the city, some asshole not treatin her right, an' havin ta fend for herself."

Jimmy shrugged, accepting the answer. "I know. And like I said, I really felt bad for her. I gave her a hundred bucks before she left, trying to help her out a little."

They nodded. One hundred dollars would only last a couple days, at best, then the young woman they had met in the hallway really would be on her own. Jimmy looked like he would say more but one of the movers caught his attention and he moved to investigate. Murphy clapped a hand on Connor's shoulder and they continued to the stairs.

"They fuckin screwed her over, Murph," Connor said.

"Aye, I know," Murphy replied.

"What the fuck's a woman alone s'posed ta do in a city she doesn't even fuckin know?"

"I dunno, man." Connor still looked angry, so Murphy slung an arm around his shoulders. "There's nothin ye can do, so ye might as well quit fussin. Ye don't always get ta be the hero."

"It's just..." Connor gave a sigh of aggravation as they neared their front door. "It's fuckin bullshit. There's all kinds a sick motherfuckers out there, I hate ta think of what could happen to her."

"Aye. Me too."

They walked into the loft and paused just inside the door, each saying a quick, silent prayer for their former neighbor before removing their rosaries and cleaning themselves up after work.

"I'm first in the shower," Murphy announced, drawing his shirt over his head and tossing it to the area of the floor more or less designated for dirty laundry. "Ye're not stealin all the fuckin hot water again."

Connor rolled his eyes as he sat down on the couch, lit a cigarette, and turned on the television. Of the two of them, he _was_ more inclined to worry over things that were often out of his control, and as the newscaster rattled off another day's worth of slayings, robberies and muggings, his mind fretted over that wild young woman who had gone drinking with them at McGinty's.

 _Wonder where she is right now?_

* * *

Renata got out of the cab in front of the nondescript brick building with the faded awning stretched over the sidewalk. The neon was dark but it was still fairly early in the afternoon and the place wasn't likely even open yet.

She had gone to a women's shelter after Jimmy turned her out, trying to make the cash he'd given her last as long as possible. She had been busting her ass ever since, trying to find a job to keep the money coming in and get the fuck out of that rat-hole shelter. And it was the same story every time. They all turned her away. She'd gotten so frustrated with the last guy who rejected her, the manager of some dive diner in the neighborhood where the Reids lived, that she started yelling.

"I need this fucking job, asshole!" she'd stormed, trying to hold onto the tears filling her eyes. "I'm in a fucking homeless shelter! I haven't got shit to my name! What the fuck am I supposed to do?"

His eyes hardened in irritation at her outburst and he looked her up and down, not leering at her exactly, but as if to make a point. In that godawful Bostonian accent, he'd told her, "You got one thing to your name, sweetheart. I'd put it to work if I was you."

She had stared at him in disbelief for a moment before losing her temper, snatching shit off the counter between them and throwing it across the diner. She made a hasty retreat soon after he picked up the phone to call the cops. If she got arrested again, she was screwed.

But his words echoed sickeningly in her head like a broken record. She'd be damned if she'd start hooking, she wasn't _that_ fucking desperate, but she was desperate enough... She had a body men went for and she knew how to move, and God knew she was comfortable enough in her own skin to show it off...

She stood outside the quiet strip club, staring at the sign on the awning and trying to quell the anxious, nauseous feeling in her stomach at the name:

 _Sin Bin_

She took one more deep breath, like a diver about to go under, then went inside.

 _ **THE END**_

 **Thanks for reading! I hope you had fun! :)**


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